


We got you a gift

by NovemberWings



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Brooklyn Boys, But it's okay, Crying, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I swear, M/M, Violence, gang leader, scared
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-28 22:44:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16732065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NovemberWings/pseuds/NovemberWings
Summary: Spot is the infamous gang leader of the Brooklyn boys. He's feared all over New York, known for his acts of violence against those who upset him.Then, unfortunately, Racetrack sells on his terf and upsets him...





	We got you a gift

He couldn’t see anything. This goddamn bag over his head was stopping his vision and making his already panicked breathing even harder along with the cloth gag in his mouth. He was desperately trying to not hyperventilate but it wasn’t really working. He was in for it. He knew it. He knew he was in for it the moment the four Brooklyn boys had pulled him off the street where he was selling and kicked him to the ground. They’d roughed him up a little but nothing as bad as he expected before they slipped the gag on, tied his hands behind his back and pulled the bag over his head before yanking him to his feet and blindly marching him through the back alleys and dark streets where no one could help him. The minute that bag went over his head he knew it was going to be a whole lot worse than just four kids beating up a random kid.

Although he knew all these boys knew he didn’t want them to know that he was scared. He could feel tears running down his cheeks, and blood running down his chin from his spilt lip, and that was the only reason he was glad that he had the bag on his head. The tight ties around his wrists were starting to make his hands tingle and he could practically feel the bruises forming from the overly tight grasp the two boys had on his upper arms. 

They were walking him somewhere he didn’t know where. He knew he was inside a building, and he could hear a large group of voices that they were moving ever closer to by the second. He guessed they were in the Brooklyn lodgings, but he really hoped he was wrong.

They were walking him faster now, the noise was closer, his breathing sped up. He stumbled with a small cry which earned him a slap of the back of the head, he winced but refrained from making any further noise, the hands grasping his arms even tighter now.

Suddenly, the noise of the voices completely stopped. He was walked a short distance before he was thrown to the floor harshly, his knees crunched as they hit the wooden floor. He took a sharp breath in but bit his tongue to stop the cry that almost broke free.  
“Spot. We got a gift for you.” A voice from above spoke. His blood ran cold in his veins and his breathing stopped. Spot? Spot? As in Spot Conlon? He was going to die. He knew the Brooklyn boys were going to beat him for selling in their territory when they grabbed him earlier but they’ve bought him to Spot? He was going to die… This was the end… Spot was the most feared boy in all of New York, and Race had gotten on his bad side. He felt more tears fall. There was only one reason to be dragged before Spot Conlon and that was because he wanted to kill you… personally.  
“Is this him? Racetrack?” He heard a boy’s voice sound. The way he said his name made him shiver because there was no mistaking who was speaking; it was him. How did he know his name?  
“Yep.” The same voice from above spoke.  
“Let me see ‘im.” Suddenly, the bag was ripped off his head. He closed his eyes at the sudden light before he blinked them open, his vision blurred by his teary eyes. He took a breath, which was easier without the bag but was suffocated by the panic. It took a moment to get his bearings and when he did he wish he hadn’t because before him stood the king of Brooklyn himself; Spot Conlon. He dropped his head, he didn’t want to make this worse. Maybe if he grovelled and begged Spot would let him live? But he had never heard of anyone surviving the wrath of Spot Conlon before.

A few steps sounded before a pair of worn shoes fell into his vision. The next thing he knew Spot was knelt in front of him, he could feel his whole body shivering and tensing. He was scared. He just wanted to go home. 

Spot’s hand grabbed his chin, making him flinch, turning his head up from the ground. He found himself face to face with him. He blinked rapidly as Spot silently glanced over his face, and to Race’s terror he saw nothing but cold indifference in Spot’s features. He could feel the sweat pouring down his face mixing with his tears.

Spot stood and Race dropped his head.  
“Come here.” Spot said to the boy who must have spoken to him when Race had the bag on his head. Race lifted his head to watch in horror. The boy walked calmly up to Spot, standing a fair distance away. Without warning Spot punched the boy in the stomach making the boy double over in pain. “I thought I told every single one of you here,” Spot spoke to the room, ignoring the trembling Race kneeling at his feet, “that when you brought me this boy you wouldn’t hurt a single hair on his head.” Spot then turned to the boy now recovering from the punch trying to right himself. “Then why did you think that you were allowed to beat this boy after I told you all specifically not to.” The boy stayed silent. The silence was terrifying for a brief moment before Spot flicked his wrist in an obvious dismissal, “Get out of my sight.” He spat.   
“Don’t get me wrong, boys,” he readdressed the silent hall, “It’s not that I don’t want this boy hurt. I’m not going soft.” He laughed through his words, thoroughly chilling Race’s blood, “It’s just I want to make sure it’s done right. So I’ll be doing it myself.” He then turned back to Race and the three remaining boys. “Take ‘im to my room, I’ll deal with him later, personally.” 

In that moment Race felt his heart Stop. His breathing became erratic and uncontrolled. He had nothing to lose now. He felt two of the boys grab his arms, ready to heave him to his feet.  
“Please!” He tried to call through the gag, which ended up muffled but could be understood, “please!” He tried again, but no one listened. Spot stared cruelly at him as the boys dragged him to his feet and pulled him out of the room and down a dark corridor before throwing him through a door into a room in the pitch black. 

He landed gracelessly, hearing his shoulder crack from the hard impact on the floor. He looked at the silhouette of the boy in the door before uttering one last desperate plea; “Please!” He cried once more through the gag but the only response he got was the door slamming shut; trapping him in the complete darkness to await his fate.

 

Race quickly learned that it was basically impossibly to find a way to lie comfortably on the floor with your hands tied behind your back. He eventually managed to sit up removing pressure from the shoulder he had landed on. It was throbbing and growing hotter by the minute. He was pretty sure it either was dislocated completely or slightly out of place. That was the least of his worries and he sat cross legged in the dark, arms behind his back, gag firmly in place whilst he stared at the strip of light under the door crack fighting through his panic attack. The minute the door had slammed shut enveloping him in darkness the panic attack took his chest and it started.

His breathing coming too fast, his tears streaming down his face, his nose running. He must look a state; covering in tears, sweat, blood and snot. His hair had flopped into his face, stuck to his forehead with sweat, but he didn’t care. All he could think about was that door opening and Spot Conlon swaggering in. Would he kill him quickly or slowly? Race knew it would be slow. He had visions of Spot breaking his arms and fingers before slitting his throat. Or ripping his shirt off and cutting delicate patterns into his skin with a sharpened blade. Or burning him by heating spoon and blistering him all over before deciding to end it.

Or would Spot just keep it traditional and beat him and beat him and beat him until he died. Would his last moments be a bloody nose, broken wrist and his eyes swollen shut by bruises before passing out and never waking up again? He didn’t know what was going to happen and he just wanted to go home. He wanted to see Jack and Albert. He wanted… he wanted… his mom. He was scared and despite everything… he wanted his mom. His panic attack had stopped and his tears had slowed before completely stopping. 

He was suddenly exhausted, but he knew he wouldn’t fall asleep. He couldn’t.

After what seemed like hours of his mind envisioning different scenarios each worse that the last he heard footstep walking down the corridor towards the room he was in. He stopped breathing to hear as best he could. Then his nightmare was made a reality as for a second the light coming from under the door was blocked by a pair of feet and the door swung open to reveal Spot.

 

Spot stepped in and closed the door behind him before there as a flicking noise and an electric light bulb lighted the room. Spot glanced at him.  
“Pretty cool, right? It’s the only room in the building with electricity.” 

Race stared at him. He didn’t know how he was supposed to react… so he didn’t. Spot started walking towards him and he flutily tried to push himself away from him with his feet, sliding back on the floor, his tears resurfacing.   
“Hey… hey… come on.” Spot spoke softly, easily catching up to him and kneeling down next to him. Race in his attempt to move away from Spot had fallen onto his back once more and was staring up at Spot from the floor with wide, terrified eyes. Spot reached towards his face, making Race turn his head to the side cringing away as much as possible – trying to delay the inevitable. He was holding his breath and clenching his teeth. “You’re going to have to loosen your jaw if you want my to take the gag out.” Race blanched at that and in his shock relaxed his jaw. Spot grabbed the cloth that lay on his cheek and gently pulled in out of his mouth, letting it fall around Race’s neck.

Spot moved his hands from the lower half of Race’s face to the top half where he began brushing the sweat slicked hair out of his eyes.   
“Please…” Race rasped desperately as he stared up at Spot’s face. “I’m sorry I sold on your terf.” His tone was full of begging, “I am. I was desperate.” He swallowed, “I was desperate and it won’t happen again. Please, please. It won’t happen again” His words rushed out and he was going to continue begging but his words were silenced by Spot’s shushing as he pulled his hand away from his face.  
“I ain’t gonna hurt you, Racetrack. In fact, I’m sorry my boys hurt you. I told them specifically not to.”

Race felt tears run down his temples to pool on the floor next to his head as he stared up at Spot. He didn’t know what was happening. He was cold from the sweat that covered his body and exhausted from the shivering. He didn’t know what Spot was doing, he just wanted to go home.  
“Please.” He whispered through a sob. He could feel another panic attack coming.  
“Racetrack listen. I am not going to hurt you. Do you understand?” Race paused for a moment trying to quiet his sobs before he choked out the truth.  
“No… I don’t understand.” Spot sighed and looked down at him.  
“Okay, that’s okay. Don’t be scared. Why don’t you sit up so I can untie your wrists and we can sit on the bed and chat.” Race silently stared up before deciding to comply with whatever it was that Spot wanted. He wanted his hands unbound too.

He started struggling to sit up before Spot put a hand on his shoulder and helping him up the rest of the way. He shuddered slightly at the contact but didn’t pull away. Once he was sat up cross legged on the floor again Spot stood from his kneeling next to Race. He flinched back slightly at the sudden movement and height difference between them but Spot ignored him making his way over to a jacket that hung off a hook on the back of the closed door. Spot rummaged around in the pockets as Race watched with a terrified curiosity and felt his heart stop as Spot pulled out a switch blade from one of the pockets.

Spot turned and started walking back towards him and he felt his breath coming quickly again.  
“Spot… please. Please.” He sounded pathetic to himself, God knows what Spot must have thought.  
“Shhh. It’s okay… not going to hurt you.” He said as he walked behind Race, who tensed - scared of what was to come next. He clenched his hands into fists and felt his shoulder blades tense. He felt the cold of the steel on his wrists and he flinched. Spot’s hand grabbed his upper arm. “Don’t move. I don’t want to accidentally cut you.” Race took in a breath and stopped breathing staying as still as he physically could, cursing himself for not being able to control his shivering. 

It only took Race a moment to figure out that Spot was only cutting the ropes from his wrists away and felt like a fool that he hadn’t put it together sooner. The minute the ropes fell to the floor he brought his arms in front of him and felt his shoulder twinge sharply at the suddenly different angle. He tried to roll it subtly to move blood but he winced.  
“What’s wrong? Are you hurt somewhere else?” Spot asked him. Despite Spot so far keeping his promise Race was still completely terrified. He opened his mouth, yet no words came out so he just silently shook his head before closing his mouth. Spot looked at him doubtfully but decided to let the matter slip. He stood and moved to sit on the edge of the bed where he looked at Race expectantly before patting the bed next to him. Race hesitated for a moment before he pushed himself up off the floor and sat next to Spot, pointedly not touching him.  
“Yknow, Race, it actually really upsets me that you’re this scared of me.” He spoke into his hands, Race cringed a little hearing that he had upset him – that definitely didn’t mean good things for him. “I actually asked for my boys to bring you here specifically.” He turned to face Race, and saw Race flinch at the thought of Spot personally hunting him down. “I told everyone that the reason I wanted you was ‘cause you is selling on my terf but...” he paused, holding Race in a horrified suspense, “the real reason I wanted you specifically was because I wanted to thank you.”

Race blanched at that. Why did he want to thank him? He had never even seen Spot Conlon in the street before today. He paused waiting for him to continue, his hands still trembling.  
“I don’t really expect you to remember but you saved my life, Racetrack.” Spot said looking at him. Race’s head snapped up to look at Spot out of shock bursting out a disbelieving;  
“What?” The disbelief was palatable, which just made Spot laugh – confusing and surprising Race even more than he was before. Spot Conlon laughing? He didn’t think he’d ever see that. There was no malice or cruelty in his laugh - just a genuine kind laugh.  
“Yeah.” Spot said through a laugh. “A few years ago I was out on the streets. It was one of my first weeks on the street an’ I still didn’t know nobody. I wasn’t a newsie or nothing. I just sat and begged. One night this man this guy came up to me. He looked about 20 years old and he just starting shouting at me and kicking my legs. I didn’t know what to do… it was the middle of the night and I’d never had to deal with a situation like this before, I didn’t know how to fight or nothing. The man was about to start really hitting me and I was scared and then out of nowhere you comes running down the road and jumping on top of him. You landed one punch on his jaw, I remember like it was yesterday, the guy screamed and covered his face and you told him to leave ‘him the fuck alone’. The guy stood and ran.” He paused for a moment smiling, “then you came over to me asked me if I was okay and checked to make sure nothing was broken. When you found nothin’ was you asked me what I did… I said nothing and you told me about being a Newsie. You gave me a dollar to start buying papes with… or whatever I wanted to do with it… and I went out the next mornin’ and bought meself some papes. Over the years I’ve worked my way up… but I don’t forget where I came from Racetrack. I owe you everything.” Spot trailed off into silence where Race just gaped at him.

He had saved Spot Conlon? The most feared boy in New York. The boy who controlled the underworld and every kid in the 5th biggest city in the world? And he had saved his life? His mouth gaped open like a fish.  
“I… I don’t know what to say, Spot.”  
“But I do. Thank you, Racetrack. Really thank you. The world needs people like you… people who just help others because it’s the right thing to do… so I want to let you know if you ever need anything. Anything at all, you come to me. If someone’s giving you trouble I’ll make them stop. You don’t have to worry about my guys or no one. If you’re hungry come to me. I don’t care what it is. You’ll get it.” Race couldn’t believe his ears. This couldn’t be real. The only thing that made him believe that this was real was because he remembered that night, and it was only him and the boy. No one else could possibly know about what happened.   
“But… why did you… get your boys to drag me here? You could have asked me to come…”  
“And would you have come? Or would you have run back to Manhattan?” Race’s face reddened as they both know what he really would have done. “It’s alright, Race, I knows what people think I’m like. It’s not true. Yeah I’ve cracked a few skulls but I’m not the psychopath people think I am. The only problem is I’s got a reputation to maintain and the minute I show one weakness that’s it I’m out. These boys need a strong leader, Racetrack. Can’t show ‘em I’m going soft.” He laughed bumping Race’s shoulder, and to Race’s surprise he laughed back.  
“Yeah I get it. Obviously not on the same level as you but we all have a reputation to maintain.”  
“So… you knows yous can come to me for anything, yeah?”  
“I mean if you’re sure?” He asked back, realising that Spot was offering him basically the world.  
“Yes. One hundred percent sure. I owe everything to you, Racer. I’m grateful and good people deserve something back. They’re not given much by the world, but I can give you something.”  
“Thank you, Spot.” Sincerity dripped heavily from his words.

There was a pause as they boys sat in a comfortably silence.  
“What you going to tell the boys about what you did to me?”  
“Oh. Well I’m going to say that I was going to teach you a lesson but you offered 50% of your daily profit to me whilst you sell on Brooklyn terf. Obviously you don’t give me nothin’ really, but if any of the boys ask why you ain’t beaten and about the fact that you can still sell by the Racetracks. It works for both of us… as you know reputation.” Race nodded in understanding, impressed with how believable the story was as well as holding Spot’s position strong in society.  
“You should get going, Racer.” Race glanced up a Spot, before standing up – wanting to be back in Manhattan as soon as possible. “Just ‘cause the boys are going to be coming to bed, expecting to hear you shouting and screaming. I’ll say I kicked you out through the window.” Spot said standing and walking over to his window opening it. “You think you can climb down?”  
“Yeah.” Race nodded moving over to the window. He was about to climb out when Spot put a hand on his arm, but this time he didn’t flinch no longer scared of the scariest boy in New York.   
“Remember, I mean it Race, anything you need come to me. I want you too.” Race nodded his agreement and got a curt nod back off Spot. “Good luck, Racer, I’ll see you about.” And without warning Spot pulled him into a hug. Race tensed at the sudden contact at first before quickly melting into the hug and returning it gently, a smile taking his face.   
“Good luck to you, Spot.” He said as he pulled away and smiled at him one more time before lowing himself out of the window – completely baffled by what had just happened.

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya guys! This is just a quick little thing I came up with. I thought it was a cure concept... plus gang leader spot.. yes???  
> Hurt/Comfort... yess????  
> Misunderstandings?!?!?!?! YESS
> 
> Also I know I'm still writing Put 'em up. I'm half way through the next chapter, but don't worry it's coming. It hasn't been forgotten... I just really wanted to write this. (forgive me!!)  
> *Kisses!* (and please comment!)


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